Fine Feathers
by MalbecMalcontent
Summary: Restaurant, Red, Romance...Retail Therapy?
1. Chapter 1

Fine Feathers

"It is not only fine feathers that make fine birds." - Aesop

Disclaimer - I own no part of The Blacklist, but would be open to a Red Rental.

AN: Many thanks to jackandsamforever for her assistance and encouragement. Also to Jessahme Wren for encouragement and keeping Lizzington's in line. If you haven't read stories authored by A or J, you have the next fan fiction finds for your reading pleasure. You're welcome. This was inspired by someone in the Lizzington world, who suggested that Red take Lizzie shopping. I promise I will credit that person when I'm reminded who it was.

Warning: Eventual Lizzington, might have to up the rating later.

The Blacklist: Frederick Barnes (#1.7) Red: "Agent Keen, I have a tip. You're a winter, not an autumn. Stop wearing olive."

With so much of her life wrapped up in cloak and dagger and not in brick and mortar, Liz found herself at a loss one Saturday morning. Autumn had curled up and settled into winter and Tom was off chaperoning weekend suspensions.

Loathe to attempt any of the to-do's on her list or waste a sunny (if chilly) day lounging around, Liz weighed her options. The all-consuming intrigue at the Post Office and the "Concierge of Crime" left her disconnected from daily life. While Liz was not inclined to indulge (outside of the tub of Nutella hidden above the refrigerator and a DVR full of the Real Housewives), for once she just wanted to do something for herself. She couldn't remember the last time she did something on her own time.

Liz looked down at her fraying sweatshirt and faded yoga pants. They were soft and well-loved, but rather pathetic. Walking to the bedroom with her coffee in hand, her open closet revealed more of the same. An astonishing array of drab suits she bought on sale and off-season. "It seems like an oxymoron to have such a variety of bland," she mumbled wryly.

She sipped her coffee again, musing over the gray/taupe/black morass, infiltrated by the occasional colored, if G-man regulation-style blouse. She rubbed her thumb over one light blue shell and sighed.

Liz had always been a tactile person. A bath mat, pure white and exceedingly fluffy, greeted her after every shower. Every day, it provided her feet with a simple delight. That, coupled with the most expensive towels she could afford, made the early mornings and late nights a bit easier to bear. Her sheets and bedding, though standard in color and pattern, were a high-quality thread count and her feather duvet and down pillows were items she never regretted putting on her wedding registry.

She gave up when it came to upholstery, and could not be troubled with drapery and wall paper. Liz wasn't at home long enough to become invested in the trappings of domesticity, though she did appreciate it when it looked cozy and welcoming. She did care about her wardrobe. Unbeknownst to Tom and the few people she considered friends, Liz was a clandestine clothes snob.

This longing began at an early age. While Sam did his best, his focus was on ensuring his daughter was in clean and reasonably modest clothing. Liz was never openly mocked for her style, but looking back, she realized that she'd begun dressing like a FBI agent long before she was out of Quantico. But she longed for pretty, frivolous clothes.

As a teen, Liz had wistfully admired the fashionable clothing of her peers, and squirreled away funds from babysitting jobs to afford the rare new piece from the mall. When she went to college, she allowed these indulgences less and less as her expenses increased. Thankfully, college fashion veered more to "workout chic", and Liz could live in a small selection of university shirts and sweatshirts with jeans like everyone else her age. After college, work, New York, and Quantico, little had changed outside of her array of bland office attire and a handful of serviceable dresses for events. Pretty had faded into practical, and a civil servant and teacher's salary didn't allow for seasonal wardrobe overhauls.

Liz smiled into her cup of coffee, and took a fortifying sip, and then another. She told herself that she really didn't care about the sad state of her wardrobe, and that she couldn't remember when she last reveled in the restorative power of a new outfit.

And then, like an annoying bedside alarm, she began to hear the voice of her criminal (Partner? Mentor? Friend?) in her head. Her eyes fell on an olive suit shoved in the side of the closet, abandoned several weeks ago. Unbidden, the voice repeated a jibe from that day, "Agent Keen, I have a tip. You're a winter, not an autumn. Stop wearing olive."

Inwardly she seethed. At the time, she had more important things to address, like catching a dangerous criminal and preventing a total catastrophe, but Lizzie had filed Red's remark away for future review. It hurt her feelings, distantly at the time, but now after a cursory review of her wardrobe, she had to agree that her clothing choices were abysmal. Damn him.

Liz shook her head and tried her best to also shake loose the discomfiting feeling of hurt. After setting the coffee cup down, she threw on a decent sweater, jeans and flats. She scrubbed her face, dabbed on some lotion and lip gloss, and pulled her hair into a high bun.

She examined her reflection and was not entirely displeased. In the soft morning light, she looked younger than her years, like a grad student or a low-level government staffer. Liz grabbed her wool coat, purse and keys.

It was time to self medicate with retail therapy.


	2. Chapter 2

Three hours later, Liz was exhausted.

She had taken the subway to the nearest mall, and after going to multiple stores, she just couldn't find something that was above the bland wardrobe she already owned while still being age appropriate. While she thought a midriff bearing top and sparkly jeggings might work for an undercover gig as a prostitute or raver, she wasn't about to pay for them herself. Liz would more likely wear a snuggie; at least then, she'd be warm.

Disappointed at the lack of selection, and resigned to spend the rest of Saturday eating Nutella out of the jar while listening to the catty drama of a bunch of housewives, Liz exited the mall and began walking back to the subway station.

Mere seconds into her travel, she heard the familiar sound of Red's Mercedes slowly creeping beside her and a sheet of bullet proof glass sliding down. Liz groaned and turned to the car, resigned.

"Why, hello there, Lizzie," said Red. "Fancy running into you here. Want a ride? I have to admit I feel a little more like a dirty old man then usual, luring what appears to be a co-ed ingénue into my car, but 'come into my parlor," as the saying goes."

Lizzie examined the small section of Red that was visible though the window. As always, he was impeccably dressed. She was certain there was a bespoke suit and Italian silk tie underneath the camel dress coat and cashmere scarf. His fedora was likely beside him in the car as his tinted glasses glinted in the afternoon sun.

"Is this work related, Red?" Lizzie replied, bluntly. "Because, if it isn't, I'm busy and it's my one day away from being Crisis Control Keen. I really need to decompress and your 'coincidental' appearance here isn't helping."

Red leaned out a bit. "Lizzie, dear, must a friend have a reason to visit? It's absolutely imperative that we spend a little quality time together after all the recent nonsense we've been through. Come now, it's nearly 1:00 and I'm sure you're famished. I know a fabulous Italian place a few streets over. The proprietor is a lovely man, Salvatore. I took care of a little "protection" issue for him a few years back."

Liz hesitated. She was hungry and didn't really want to go home yet. As much as he exasperated her, and the fact she still felt wary in his presence, Red was still the most fascinating person she had ever met, and a far better companion than her thoughts or the overly-tanned matrons of Beverly Hills.

Decided, she nodded briskly and opened the door, as Red slid across the seat to make room. She closed the door and leaned back, inhaling air redolent with leather, illegal cigars and some sort of well-aged alcohol.

His cologne, undoubtedly expensive and custom crafted, was a refined blend of clean restraint and spicy. Liz shook her head and sat up straight. She was not analyzing Red's cologne. That was a little strange. She turned to see that Red was watching her, bemused.

"Getting your bearings?" He asked, "Or trying not to hyperventilate now that you're back in my presence? I understand my charisma is powerful, Lizzie, but do try not to faint. I've misplaced my smelling salts."

She felt her ire rise and was grateful of the redirection of her thoughts. "Red, if you're going to be annoying, I'll just go home." She warned, but it was a toothless threat.

Red smiled knowingly. "My dear, I pledge to be the model lunch companion. Scout's honor." He smiled with a hint of mischief as he held up the Scout sign. "Dembe, to Salvatore's please."

AN: Yes, folks...I'm a bit of a slow plotter. I like a hearty story now and again. If I didn't mention it, this is my first fan fiction after being a lurker FOREVER. Please read and review, if you are moved to do so.


	3. Chapter 3

AN #1: Goodness me, the feedback and love I received for my first two chapters have have made my year. Seriously, some of you are also authors and to know you liked my work makes me want to go all Sally Field on you...I give all of you an Italian double kiss and will make you arancini if you ever visit!

As always, I own nothing about TBL but my angst.

Chapter Three

oooooooooo

Red and Lizzie settled into a comfortable booth, somehow semi-private and also occupying a fairly defensible position.

The frescoed walls were tasteful, and she was certain the servers would be attentive and discrete. Salvatore bowed and scraped to Red. It hwas as if he saved the man's firstborn. Then again, it was Red...for all she knew he probably had.

After Red made the presumptive move to order them both an aperativo, Lizzie attempted to assert her preference for some variety of chicken salad. Red huffed, offended at the boring choice. "Lizzie, no! That's for silly tourists and bland suburbanites!" He leaned in conspiratorially, "Instead, let's have arancini. And for an entrée you have to try the trenette ala pescatrice, it's the best I've had outside of the Amalfi coast."

Lizzie frowned at his continued high-handedness. "Red, I am fully able to both cause you a great deal of pain and order my own meal."

He smiled and waved a hand dismissively. "I know you are quite the multitasker and am fully aware of your many talents. Lizzie, I must say you exude a marvelous hint of ferocity when in a fit of pique. Puts me in mind of what you would look like..."

He shook his head and tilted it to the side, as if he was shifting his perspective. "You know I enjoy that about you, sweetheart: the lion heart behind the Mona Lisa smile. Keeps me guessing. As for our order I can call them back and eat the most plebeian of entrees...or you can keep trusting me and just enjoy a truly decadent meal."

Shaking her head, Lizzie waved at him to continue. It wasn't worth it. _If I don't like the meal,_ she ruminated while examining her salad fork, _I can always stick this in the other side of his neck_.

Red chuckled, "Plotting, my dear? It's so adorable when you contemplate something that involves grave bodily injury. Really puts a twinkle in your eye."

Lizzie muttered something unintelligible regarding Red's parentage, and was moving to change the subject when he beat her to it. "If I may inquire, what were you visiting that despicable merchandise emporium? Please tell me it wasn't for something for yourself. Or even worse, for me. Lizzie, I do have standards." Red pursed his lips in a mocking moue of displeasure.

Lizzie was caught between admitting she cared about his opinion regarding her wardrobe and staying ahead of his diabolical mind if she chose to conceal the truth. It wasn't worth it. It was extraordinarily hard to hoodwink this criminal. The man likely had stock in smoke and mirrors and a degree in obfuscation.

Liz took a deep breath and attempted to answer nonchalantly. "I just had some free time and wanted to supplement my winter wardrobe, but nothing caught my eye." Red slowly began to grin.

To watch the process was to witness a fire growing from a spark, all warmth and light, kindled in the first upturn of his lips, spreading over his features. His eyes reflected the glow and Lizzie was caught by its sudden beauty, a glimpse of the man behind the mask of a bon vivant.

Even while drawn to the transformative warmth, she was still caught off-balance when Red leaned over to grasp her hand. "That's because they sell trash. You were never meant to be clothed in cheap and disposable garments." He turned her hand over, and traced the faint blue of her veins on her wrist. "Do you see this skin?"

He traced the tips of his fingers back and forth, up to her elbow, down to the heel of her hand. "This flawless skin was only meant to be showcased by the most perfect tailoring, caressed by the finest of fabrics." Lizzie stared, completely flummoxed, as her mind stuttered and her body started to sing.

Red ceased stroking her arm and brought her wrist to his lips, maintaining eye contact and with the most subtle of smiles. His kiss was brief, but held more intent then any other Lizzie had ever experienced.

Red returned her hand to her lap and leaned back to his previous position. The distance between them, once both friendly and casual, but now felt like either the length of the savannah between a lion and his prey, or some sort of dueling ground. Their eyes held an intense conversation. Lizzie couldn't breathe.

Thankfully, their appetizer arrived, and the crispy morsels both provided a welcome respite from the previous intensity and broke their gaze. Lizzie found that in that moment, only bits of her primal brain were fully functioning. She was grateful that some of those bits could be distracted by fried food.

A small draft from two servers rushing by moved over her lap, catching the small bit of moisture left on her wrist from his lips. Liz fought to control the resulting shiver.

Red continued without acknowledging the moment. "So, to accomplish our goal of getting you properly clothed, we'll just pop over to a few stores and one independent boutique. That should cover your winter necessities. Anything else can be made by an affiliate of my tailor. Etienne is a genius with fabric, despite his awful taste in music and furniture. That, and his proclivity for greyhound racing. Those poor bitches."

Lizzie's brain, fueled by the influx of calories, finally started processing Red's sartorial soliloquy and slammed on the breaks. Turning back towards him, she tried to employ courtesy. "Red, there is no reason to put yourself out. It was just a little frivolous whim to buy a few things, not a new wardrobe."

She could see the cogs whirling and Red plotting the next ten minutes of their conversation, ensuring that any outcome would favor him.

"Lizzie, I'll put myself out whenever I please. I'm remarkably easy in that respect. In fact, I am positively wanton in my desire to assist you. I adore a bit of frivolity, now and again. That I get to combine it with your wardrobe overhaul - well, that makes it truly fun."

For the second time in an afternoon, Lizzie wondered if she should give Red a demonstration of how she could harm someone with a fork. Or perhaps a spoon...it would hurt more.

oooooooooo

AN #2: a bit of an allusion to one of my favorite characters, there. Please continue to review if so moved. Feedback is fuel!


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thanks for your continued support! I'm trying to move this fic along...

Disclaimer - I own no part of The Blacklist

Chapter Four

OoooooooooooO

Lizzie spent the rest of lunch enjoying the entree Red had ordered while trying to figure out how avoid shopping with him.

The main problem: she wanted to go shopping with Red. For some reason that she refused to analyze, Lizzie was interested in having this experience with him, a man of exquisite and particular tastes. Tom barely looked at her lately, and Lizzie could handle being admired for a change. Her mind kept trying to classify it as a cultural excursion, or a partnership-building exercise, but her heart wasn't buying it.

She became lost in thought, trying to ascertain how she was going shopping without slaughtering her budget or Red making some sort of grand gesture. Red cleared his throat, paused, and then tapped his water glass with a spoon to get her attention.

"Lizzie, are you with me? If I wanted to dine with a mannequin, I would have invited the Russian model. Gorgeous girl, but had a terrifying obsession with vampires. If she asked me wear a cape one more time, I might have had to bleed her dry, just to put her out of my misery." He finished his coffee and with a small noise of satisfaction, sat back from the table. "Sweetheart, I believe we're set, unless you'd like another cup of coffee. Shall we?" He stood up and started to put his coat on.

Lizzie held up her hand. "Red, wait. Let's talk about some ground rules. I know how you are and I don't feel right not having some say in all of this. First, we need to be respectful of my budget. I only have..." she remembered the balance of the "mad money" she had saved in the little credit union account. "Approximately $350 to spend today. I know it won't buy much, but I forbid you to from even thinking about going above it. This little interlude is already teetering on the inappropriate, and I won't be treated like some kind of kept woman."

Red huffed in feigned astonishment, "Why Lizzie, where precisely would I 'keep' you? Obviously not in a closet or basement, I'm not that kind of criminal, thanks. But intriguing as that line of thinking is, I'll return to your original request. I vow to help _you_ stay within your budget. And as for 'teetering' - I do not teeter. I prefer to jump feet first into the inappropriate. So, off to La Perla!"

Lizzie stared at him, completely agog. "Red, you can't be serious...I am not going underwear shopping with you. And, La Perla is completely out of my price range. I'd blow through my allocated funds on two pieces."

"But what a way to blow..." Red refocused on Lizzie, palms up in supplication. "Sweetheart, any woman's magazine will inform you that foundation garments are as essential as proper clothing. And it's not just underwear, it's also nightgowns and bustiers and corsets..." He stared dreamily into a corner. "In short, it's completely respectable. And I'm certain they'll have a few things on...sale." Red said the last word reluctantly, like it was shameful.

"I will not take no for an answer, but I'll give you a moment to get over it while I make a few calls. Excuse me, dear." Red swept out of the booth and strode out the door that Salvatore scurried to open for him.

She couldn't believe how quickly this day had derailed. What was initially a mild feeling of foreboding, like small dark clouds on a horizon, had devolved into a...Liz searched for a proper analogy. Shitstorm. A broken arrow operation, when everything has gone FUBAR.

Rationally, Liz knew that she could get up, tell Red to do something anatomically impossible, and run home. This whole situation smelled of manipulation and treachery. In a slightly masochistic way, Liz was also extremely intrigued as to what the day would bring. It reminded her of the feeling she had right before she'd do something bad as a child, mixed with the anticipation she felt before taking down a criminal.

Lizzie tried her best to convince herself that she could maintain control over herself today, and rationalized that while Red said inappropriate things all the time, words were easily ignored.

After all, it wasn't like he'd be in the dressing room with her.

OooooooooO

AN: Ruh roh, Lizzie... I've had few PM's about how Lizzie isn't fighting Red that much, so I tried to include a bit of her attempt to rationalize things. I know it might seem a bit OOC from "badass FBI agent" but, everyone is vulnerable to temptation, especially if they can explain the danger away. And, heck, this is my story, and I think Red is almost completely irresistible. I'm sure I'll try out a Lizzie empowerment story someday, but not now. As always, please read and review. Reviews feed my soul.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: So, Red and Lizzie are going shopping. No biggie.

As always, I own nothing from the Blacklist except for my angst.

OoooooooO

Chapter 5

Lizzie stepped out of the Mercedes to the very expensive, very chic looking exterior of La Perla. She found it amusing that, while she occasionally came a cross headless torsos in her line of business, they typically weren't gussied up in silk and lace like those in the display…though with serial killers it was not out of the realm of possibility. She laughed nervously and felt terribly underdressed. She sincerely hoped this excursion would not involve a "Pretty Woman" moment.

Red ushered her in with a solicitous hand to her back and they were immediately greeted by a salesperson.

"Mr. Reddington, it is so lovely to see you again, it's been far too long! The severely elegant blonde gushed. She moved to take Red's hands in hers and Red kissed her once on either cheek.

"Sylvia, you are a vision as always! How is your delectable wife? Still chasing you 'round the house, I'm sure." He pulled back, holding Sylvia by the shoulders, as if assessing her health.

The blonde blushed, "Well, that's what I get for marrying someone twenty years my junior. Thanks for asking, Red. She is a constant blessing." Sylvia turned to Lizzie, with a generous smile. "And you must be the formidable Agent Keene. Why, you're even more radiant then he described. I do hope you are keeping him in line, my dear. A notorious criminal like Mr. Reddington needs a firm hand, for his own good. But I'm certain you know that better then I." She winked at Lizzie.

"Now Sylvia, don't tell her all my secrets. Where's the fun in that?" Red smiled, and clapped his hands. "Now, on to business. I trust you pulled everything? I apologize for the lack of warning."

"But of course, I have them waiting in the private room. If you'll just follow me?" She smiled at Lizzie, who stood staring at Red.

Her stare quickly intensified to a glare. Hands on her hips, legs akimbo, Lizzie confronted Red. "What did you do? Did you call ahead to pick out UNDERWEAR for me? Are you serious?" Lizzie was of a mind to hightail it out of there. This was getting weird.

Hands outspread and with a placating expression, he advanced towards her slowly. "Lizzie, please don't be upset. I understand we have a limited amount of time and budget, so I called to have her pull a few things in your approximate size that should suit your needs. I have a few other places that I would truly love to take you to, and would hate for us to waste unnecessary time searching for what you need. Please forgive me if you feel offended. I was only trying to help." Red resembled a contrite little boy.

Liz wasn't buying his act. "Red, this isn't your first time around the block. I know better then your Russian vampire model. However, because I am a practical individual, I will overlook the affront." She glared again, "_And_ that you somehow know my size…I really don't want to know how you figured it out."

She leaned in close to him and poked his sternum. "But listen well, _sweetheart_, if you pull something like this again, I'll continue my shopping at Wal-Mart, and make certain you have to see me every day in something you find offensive. We're talking_ rayon, cotton-poly blend_ and_…mauve._" The menace in her voice was unmistakable. Like every threat she troubled to make, Lizzie meant it.

Undaunted, Red smiled again, nodding. "Yes, Lizzie, I'll do my best. Now please follow Sylvia so we can get on to things and we don't have to explore how your threats stimulate me." He pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow.

Lizzie sighed and followed Sylvia. As they entered a private room beyond the dressing area, she saw that a tidy selection was assembled over a velvet covered table. Several expensive mirrors adorned the walls and the lighting was about the strength of strong candlelight. The effect was seductive…

Red took off his coat and threw his hat on a chaise lounge. He sat down and kicked his feet up, giving Lizzie an appraising look. "Well, Lizzie, let's get on with it then."

There were moments in their relationship that Lizzie had been disappointed, scared, confused, excited, and sad as well as a complex cocktail of other emotions she was reluctant to define. For as long as she lived, Lizzie would remember the first moment when she first felt truly murderous towards Red. As the feeling begin to wash over her, she savored it. _Rage, with a dash of homicidal mania – yes, that's right. I can also feel a bit of berserk coming on. That's interesting._

Lizzie turned around and did her best not to stomp her feet as she approached the chaise. "Red," she said flatly, "I do hope you're joking about watching me try on lingerie. And if I were you, I'd find something else to occupy myself for the next twenty minutes. That is, if you don't want to travel with a colostomy bag for the rest of your career." She smiled, without any sweetness.

Red didn't quite pale, but surprisingly also didn't fight her. He stood up, resigned. "I had to try…and you might need a second opinion…"

Lizzie smile widened ferally, showing her teeth. "It seems like Sylvia has it handled as she both appreciates the female form and is one herself. I'm fine with consulting her. Now, toddle off." She waved her hand towards the door.

Red slunk out of the room, hat in hand. "If you need me for anything, anything at all, I'll be right…" The door slammed behind him. "…here."

Red perched on the bench outside, hoping to hear some of the undressing and dressing. He strained to catch the sound of sliding of silk on her warm skin, or of corset laces being pulled tight. He could hear nothing at all, unfortunately. Still, he smirked, unrepentant. _Wait to we get to Etienne's._

Inside, Sylvia and Lizzie quickly waded their way through some impractical bustiers, corsets and waists. Lizzie vetoed a very severe and uncomfortable looking merry widow fashioned out of…leather? She raised her eyebrow at the blonde.

Sylvia smirked, "Special request from the gentleman…along with this. She held up a lovely matching bra and bikini set in a stunning blue lace. It looked like one of the most practical things on the table, but was still absolutely beautiful.

Lizzie quickly tried it on. Sylvia stood behind her, and caught her eye after she turned to the side to check out the fit. "I'd say that's a keeper, much like Mr. Reddington out there," the blonde grinned, "but you already know both of those things.

"Might I also suggest these," she held up similar sets in nude lace and black satin. "And you can't go wrong with this," she pointed to a lovely night gown and robe in the same blue. "I will admit that these are all from our most comfortable collection, but they're some of my favorites. While some lingerie is meant only for the bedroom, I believe that there is something about wearing pretty undergarments under your work clothes that puts a spring in your step."

Liz paused, "I would love to, Sylvia, but I think all of that would total my monthly salary. I'll just take this set."

Sylvia leaned in, "Nonsense, love, we're having a special, ah…redline sale today, this whole collection is severely marked down. No one wants comfortable couture lingerie anymore." The woman abruptly turned around and began gathering the pieces.

Lizzie eyed her movements, suspiciously. "Sylvia, you know what I do at the FBI? I'm a profiler. I study people all day long whether in or out of the office. You could say it's my besetting sin. So please don't be offended when I tell you that I think…scratch that…_I know,_ that you're lying."

The saleswoman looked at her, wide-eyed and ready to protest. Lizzie quickly continued, "Now I think you're a nice person, and I realize that Red asked you for a favor. I'd like to ask you another. I'll give you $100 to put towards this lot, and I'm certain that Red will be billed for the rest, as he likely planned. However, I don't want him to know what I'm getting, or even know that I chose anything just yet. I'll wear the blue out if you don't mind and would be much obliged if you could ship the remainder to this address." Lizzie wrote down her address on the back of her card.

Sylvia grinned broadly, "Oh you're a match for him alright. I can't wait to see how this pans out." She rubbed her hands together in glee.

Lizzie smiled. She supposed that it wasn't much of a victory, as Red still got what he wanted in the end, but she would take what she could get. She dressed and composed her face into a slightly woebegone expression, exciting the room.

Red looked up expectantly from the bench. "So Lizzie, be a pal and tell me if anything worked. The red lace, the purple satin? The leather? Please tell me you liked the leather – it's very crime-fighter meets Catwoman, don't you think?" The man could barely contain himself with anticipation.

Lizzie clamped down on the laughter that threatened to bubble out, and said levelly, "None of those particular pieces worked. I think Target is more my speed." Red's mouth opened in shock. He caught himself before he started to stutter.

She smiled at Sylvia and thanked her for her time. Red belatedly followed after her, trying to catch up while still processing the unthinkable. "Nothing worked? That's some of the finest lingerie available! Not a single piece?"

He rushed ahead of her to open the car door and to catch her eyes. Lizzie smirked, and tapped Red's nose in an uncharacteristically playful gesture. "Now Red, you really need to listen more closely. I implied that none of the pieces you named worked for me."

She leaned in so her lips almost brushed his ear, "I loved the blue lace set. In fact, I loved it so much that I bought it."

Red looked at her hands, "But where…" She raised her eyebrow and he finally understood.

He stepped back and gave her the once-over. "Agent Keene, you never cease to amuse and entertain. I look forward to contemplating that mental image for many days to come."

She laughed in got in the car. _Just wait until he gets the bill._ She did a bit of merry contemplation herself until they reached the next stop.

OoooooooO

AN: That's all for now, dear readers. Again, slow and steady wins the race…please read and review!


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Thank you to all the lovely readers who took the time to write notes of feedback. As a longtime lurker, I never knew how much these reviews meant to the author. Reviews are food for the SOUL! As always, I own nothing from the Blacklist except for my angst.

OoooooooO

Chapter 6

When they arrived at the second location, Lizzie avoided Red's hand and jumped out of the Mercedes. Red ducked his head and chuckled. Lizzie scanned the outside of the building, but nothing indicated it was anything but a non-descript office complex.

She looked back at Red questioningly. "Where are we? Have you lured me to an undisclosed location to have your criminal way with me? Really, Red?" She crossed her arms, expectant.

Red closed the distance between them. "I'm shocked, Lizzie. The only thing criminal about my intentions is how they've been foiled at every turn." He walked forward and held open the side door. "And dear, if I was having my way with you, a simple thing like the location would not matter." He grabbed her shoulder as they walked by, making eye contact. "Trust in that." She paused, returning his level gaze. Her mouth opened, shut and then opened again.

Deciding against a reply, she shook her head and proceeded to enter the building. He followed with a hand on her back.

"Sweetheart, be prepared to meet the most gifted designer and craftsman since my regular man, Martin. Martin is unfortunately out of the country at this moment, assisting a Shah or Pasha or Sheik of somewhere. Etienne is even better with the female form, if a bit eccentric. He's harmless…"

They turned sharply down a hallway and continued walking until they reached a plain-looking door. "Etienne Rouxchapeau, Atelier." Without knocking, they entered. "Etienne, I have your 4:30," Red announced.

Liz scanned the room, which was filled with worktables, rolls of fabric and again, half dressed mannequins. _I think he might have a fetish for those things because they don't argue with him_. Two ladies in their early thirties raised their heads from the work before him.

One, a brunette, gave the other a sideways look and stood. "And you are, sir?" She asked, tilting your head to the side. "I wasn't informed that we had an appointment today. And as for that pauvre enfoiré Etienne, let's just say fate bit him on the ass. He's still recuperating, and if we have our way, he'll stay recuperating. We are unfortunate to be his two older sisters. I am Clemence, sadly called Menace, and this is Genevieve."

The brunette had a faint Quebecois accent and a sarcastic demeanor. She took Red in from stem to stern. "Well, he's handsome enough, developing a bit of a paunch perhaps. Looks like he enjoys living well, but not so much that he's lost his edge. Inseam, about 32, would you say, G? C'est un bon coup, No?" She addressed Liz.

Seeing Liz's puzzled look, she smiled and explained. "He must be good in bed! I'm guessing he could be just about anything; an animal, a gentleman, top, bottom…well, probably not a bottom but he'd fake it well enough. Something about you says you really never give up a control." She laughed throatily and stepped from behind the counter.

Liz stuttered in her attempt to dissuade the woman. "No…we're not…together, like that…"

Menace's eyes widened and she sniffed. "Ah, I see. Sorry for the confusion. But if you do have the opportunity, I'd say try him out. If only to see I am right. I have done a fair bit of research on the subject, in the past of course. I am six years happily married to a lovely mountain of a man, with four kids to cement the deal. So please, forgive my ramblings as garbage from an old married broad."

Liz inwardly huffed. _Old married broad, my Aunt Fanny._ _That woman positively emanates fecundity and fertility._

Red stepped to Menace, and took her hand, "Enchante', Ms. Clemence. I am Raymond Reddington and this is Elizabeth Keene. I appreciate your frank appraisal and invigorating compliment. As delightful as your observations are, I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a bind. I'm assisting my…friend here with a bit of wardrobe supplementation. I had my people leave a message for Etienne, and obviously had no idea of his recent difficulties. Do you know of anyone who could be of assistance on a short notice?" He caressed her hand with his thumb.

Surprisingly, the brunette snapped his hand with the letter she carried, causing Red to quickly back away. "Oh, you are a charmer," she said, accusingly. "I would thank you not to touch me in such a way, Mr. Reddington. The last fellow that tried left with two new holes in his thigh from the vigorous application of industrial clippers."

Red apologized, and looked slightly lost. Lizzie inwardly crowed, _Red put in his place, by a non-criminal nevertheless! _

Menace continued calmly, "Threats aside, we'd be happy to take on a new client. Etienne had no real records and we're having issues drumming up business. What are you looking for today?

Red began to respond when Liz cut him off with a hand on his arm.

"Just one or two basic pieces, though I'm certain they'd be a waste of your time and talents. I really hate to trouble you, despite what he said."

Red interjected, "Nonsense, Lizzie. They're artists! She's looking for four winter weight wool suits, several mid-weight suits and all the accoutrement. I think we'll also need a selection of evening wear, both cocktail and black-tie." He paused, "Maybe a satin number and one or two options in chiffon. There's a preference for jewel tones, and all the suits must have an allowance for a shoulder holster." Red looked over at Lizzie, who was preparing to launch into another tirade. "After all, she is a winter, obviously." He hummed in satisfaction. "I leave the remaining details to you."

Lizzie shot him a venomous glare, folded her arms and proclaimed, "Over my dead and decaying body. I neither need nor can afford that many pieces. Ladies, perhaps just a suit?"

Menace looked back and forth between her two potential customers, obviously non-plussed as to how to proceed.

Lizzie again employed the forcible sternum poking. "Reddington! I will not permit this! I will remind you that I only agreed to shopping with you because you promised we'd mind my budget."

Red took her hand and folded his around it, pulling them closer together. Lizzie was momentarily shocked by the current flowing between them. There was that pull again. The hairs on her arms stood on end, as if affected by static electricity. Red licked his lips and focused on her own lips, for a moment that seemed to crackle with intensity. He moved his head closer to her until their foreheads almost touched.

Red whispered sincerely, "Lizzie, I promised to help you remain within your budget. I did not agree to a limit on my own. And let's be frank, my dear. I do have a certain reputation to uphold, and your off season separates from…Kohls…really doesn't reflect well on my image." He rubbed her fingers in a conciliatory manner. Think of it as a write-off expense, except you're not submitting your receipts to Accounts Payable, which makes it much easier. No request will be denied and you will never have to justify choosing leather over pleather."

Red became lost in thought again, "Though pleather has it's uses, particularly if activites involve seawater. It's quite a bit more durable, and the tactile joys of a lovely leather outfit are wasted when one is trying to enjoy being en flagranto delicto in the ocean. "

While she followed that interesting line of thinking, Menace and Genevieve took her in hand, stripped her down to her jeans in a tank top. They stood her on a small platform and began chattering in French and efficiently taking her measurements.

The entire time, Lizzie maintained eye contact with Red, as he removed his coat and hat, and took a seat in a leather armchair off to the side. She was captured in the intensity of the moment, and really didn't care to argue about semantics. Instead, she stood, and wondered where tomorrow would find her, if her relationship with Red would evolve into something she wasn't quite ready to consider.

OoooooooooO


	7. Chapter 7

AN: I know, I just updated yesterday...but I try to write two chapters at a time, for the sake of continuity. Hopefully this will tide you over until next weekend, when I'll have some time to work on the next two chapters. Darn that RL.

As always, I own nothing of TBL but my annnnngst!

OoooooooO

Chapter Seven

Liz broke eye contact when one of the sisters, _the unmenacing one,_ she thought, started tugging on her waistband.

"Lucky gal, we have a few dresses and suits left with us by a young lady who fell on some hard times. She could not afford them, and it appears that you are about the same size. They were all Etienne's creations, and are of the highest quality. This just ensures that you will have something soon, while your other garments are created. We have a legion of seamstresses that are here during the week, so we should be able to tailor this by Thursday. The rest will depend on the availability of fabric and the detail needed. Regardless, we need you to try on these garments to see what will work, so," she tugged again, "these have got to go."

Lizzie closed her eyes. Upon opening them, she caught Red's again. She could see him swallow, move his tongue to the side of his mouth and purse his lips. It was impossible to mistake his expression for anything but desire.

It was a catalyst for Lizzie. In the restaurant, after he stroked her wrist, she was unable to decide if the mood had changed to one of a predator stalking its prey, or to that of a duel. She had no doubts now. In that millisecond, that expression indicated that Lizzie held the reins. While Red would never be helpless, this situation, _her, _was out of his control. She had difficulty understanding her feelings about this shift, but she knew this was momentous.

But behind all the other emotions floating in the ether, she felt bold. Bold from her backbone, through the strong lines of her shoulders to her muscled runner's calves. Lizzie could give in to modesty, to convention...or she could make this man weak in the knees.

Her thoughts flicked to Tom for a moment, seeking out any feelings of regret or fear. She knew she loved Tom, but also was aware that the passionate love they had shared in the beginning of their romance had transitioned into "friendly roommates that sometimes had quality sex."

Liz had to admit that finding the "Box" and their field trip to the Post Office had done irreparable harm to their marriage. She couldn't answer honestly what bothered her more; her guilt for not believing him or her lingering suspicions that something was off.

It didn't help that their lives had taken such different paths. Tom stayed the course on the way to the "American Dream," while Liz's life was chaotic, to say the least.

Lizzie smiled, resolved. She promised herself that today, she would not do anything that would directly compromise her marriage contract. Red wasn't going to add her to his harem of women, just yet.

Liz owed it to herself to stay with Tom for the immediate future, if only to determine if her suspicions were correct. But in this moment, she was going to gain some motivation to see that relationship to its inevitable conclusion.

She pulled her tank top over her head and returned her eyes to Red. She could see him suck in his cheeks slightly and as his eyes hungrily traversed the curves of her figure...

OoooooooO

Red knew that knew that his expressions had betrayed him after he swallowed and Lizzie's eyes began to fill with something he had never seen before. He had no way of knowing what it was, exactly. It was all he could do to just sit there and share this moment of mutual regard.

Day after day, he endured her, her presence, even though it simultaneously filled him with joy and dread. It was easier to be the raconteur, the wit, the smug criminal bastard. But here, sitting prisoner to his feelings, naked to her gaze, his emotions were unbearable in their intensity.

He wanted her, every bit of her, for himself. He fought with the dark need to lock her away so that she'd be safe, she'd be _his _forever. This woman meant the whole world to him, and she didn't even really know who he was, nor his true feelings for her.

He couldn't help but appreciate the exquisite irony of all of it. Irony was a general theme in his existence.

Red watched, amazed when Lizzie removed her tank top at Genevieve's request, without asking him to leave. A detached part of his brain still managed to function while all others short circuited. It marveled at his overwhelming need to both worship and defile Elizabeth Keene completely. He felt desperate in his desire for her as he took in the perfect image of her dressed in the blue lace that he had chosen. Red clutched his hands together painfully, in a futile attempt to gain some clarity.

He knew she wasn't ready for this, to stop playing the delightful little games that they've indulged in these last few months. He could guess that she still had doubts about Tom, and that their relationship had changed, but Red was not willing to risk her doubting anything about his own intentions. She was Red's second chance, and he would wait as long as she needed to get her other affairs in order, before beginning any relationship with him.

But he would have this moment with her, an image to hold in his mind those mornings when he awakens in yet another safe house, in a bed too large and too cold for his liking. He will turn over and imagine the beautiful woman before him, waking up next to her, to her brilliant smile.

Lizzie went to remove her jeans, and Red felt himself standing suddenly, not recalling how he got there. He slowly took a few steps toward her, stopping within arms reach.

Red tipped his chin up slightly. In a voice barely audible, he said, "Oh, Lizzie, you have..." his voice caught suddenly, the space between them thick with emotion. He softly cleared his throat. "Lizzie, you have no idea how radiant you are...to me"

Red reached up into the air, and slowly traced the plane of her cheekbone with a finger, to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. He withdrew his hand and clasped them together again.

Stepping back, he stated, "I'm certain you all won't need me for a bit," his voice gaining some of its normal confidence, "So I'll step out to make a few calls."

And with that, Red retreated to the relative safety of a chair in the hallway. As one well versed in boundaries and limits, he knew that his fragile control couldn't take the sight of Lizzie...he inhaled, and laughed softly._ Though, it would have been interesting to see how she would have responded had I kissed her in that moment. I wonder if she blushes all over that lovely skin of hers..._

_OooooooooooO_


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Thank you all for your continued support for this story. I cannot convey how much your feedback means to me. (And if I get a TON of reviews, then maybe I won't be able to help myself and write even more quickly :). As always, I own nothing of the Blacklist except for my angst.

OoooooooooooooO

Chapter 8

Lizzie stared at the door, closed her mouth, then bit her lower lip and attempted to process what had just transpired.

Before, it was easy to justify Red's actions. Regardless of how her body responded or if she felt more positively towards him, Liz held to the fact that Red was a master manipulator. When caught up in the way he looked at her, the solicitous touches and double entendres, the idea that it was all part of his game brought her back to earth.

But in that last exchange, his eyes, the set of his jaw, every single bit of his body language finally spoke the truth. This was no game to him. She was no passing fancy, something to be won, used and discarded. Lizzie was real and Red wanted her, longed for her. He had to know that with a few more touches and some sly words, Lizzie's resolve would have wavered, but he wouldn't push her.

Lizzie could not believe how much his regard and respect meant to her. This well-traveled, experienced, dangerous, unpredictable man that she had come to admire and admittedly, desire...wanted her for herself, not just for whatever benefits she could bring.

She was pulled back to reality when one of the sisters started to drag a garment over her head. The sound of their conversation slowly returned as the rush of blood subsided.

"That one has got it bad for her, no?" Menace said laughingly, "He was looking it her like he was the big bad wolf." She tugged the neck of the dress down and caught Lizzie's eye. "A little more encouragement, cheri, and he would have had you over one of the sewing tables. Take my advice though, while fun in the moment, you will have the most odd-looking bruises from the bobbins...and the pins are always a hazard." She sighed, "And that's how Evangeline Singer, my third, was conceived."

Liz shook her head in disbelief. "You named your child after a sewing machine?"

Menace shrugged, "Seemed like a funny idea at the time. 'Sides, each of the kids have a middle name relating to their conception. Anais Brindille, Cecile Coquelicot and Emmanuelle Susurrer. And if you're not familiar with French, that's Twig, Poppy and Whisper." She zipped up the back of the dress, and straightened the hem. Lizzie thought for a moment.

"The woods, a field and...whisper, I can't...a church?! Did you really...in a church?!"

Menace chortled, "Americans, so delightfully prude. A holdover from those stodgy Puritans, no doubt. You were close. A treehouse, a field and a library. There's something about the smell of books that gets me every time. I was pressed up against a card catalogue..." She closed her eyes, savoring the memory.

Returning to reality, she turned Lizzie around to face a mirror. The fine wool fit her like a sheath on a custom blade.

The dress was simple, modern and perfect. As Menace helped her with the matching jacket, Liz felt like she was looking at someone else. A lawyer, perhaps, or a socialite. All she needed was a strand of pearls and a chignon and the look would be complete.

Menace peeked around her with a smile, "Absolutely lovely! We will take it up a bit, the original customer was a bit taller, but otherwise, perfect. She also commissioned pants with each jacket, which I think will suit your needs well. We will alter the jackets to conceal your weapon. If you like, we can also insert a few additional pockets for...essentials...and insert a placket or two to make drawing a sidearm more fluid. It's ip to you."

Lizzie furrowed her brow, "Essentials? Plackets?"

Genevieve rose from her stool and sauntered over to a rack of clothing. She located a men's suit jacket, and brought it over to the pedestal, and held it open to show the lining. She pointed to a seam by the lapel.

"Here, a small pocket to hold a basic lock pick. If one cranes the neck, it can be easily pulled out with teeth." She opened the other side, to an area that would rest over a man's heart. "Give it a poke." Lizzie dutifully prodded the lining, which proved to be reinforced.

She looked back at the woman, unbelievingly "Let me guess, Kevlar?"

Genevieve nodded enthusiastically. "A reinforced, more flexible derivative. It won't stop an armor-piercing bullet, but it will stop many and slow down many others. Also useful in a knife fight. We like to tailor garments to suit our customers...lifestyles."

Lizzie cocked her head to the side, puzzled. "But you only took over this business two weeks ago, and your brother designed for women, ladies who lunch, from what I gather."

Genevieve eyed Menace. Menace shrugged, "We come from a family of tailors and designers. Our parent's business, specifically their custom menswear, was developed for a certain clientele. Etienne was the first to branch out on his own, and after his mishap, we thought we'd try to combine a bit from both businesses."

Lizzie shook her head."I feel like I'm in a Bond movie. What, will you call it - 'Q Atelier' "

Menace giggled delightedly. "Oh, that's adorable, dear, but I'm much more of an 'M', don't you think? Anyway, we haven't worked out the particulars, but find a boring name usually places customers at ease. It will likely be, 'M&G Suiting.'"

She helped Lizzie out of the dress, and handed her a tank top.

"What about Menacing Designs?" said Lizzie, with a mischievous grin.

Menace dissolved into chuckles, "Oh, we should. Wouldn't that be hilarious?" She straightened up and patted Liz on the arm. "We'll take it under consideration, but first, let's check the length on the pants. What kind of heel do you prefer?"

Lizzie soon became entrenched in an intense discussion about footwear, gladly accepting a distraction from the man outside their door.

AN 2: Sorry if this seems like a filler chapter, but if I'm not writing a one shot (spoilers, there are two in progress) Courtship is kind of a game, or a merry war...sometimes an advance must be followed by a strategic retreat. Please keep reading and reviewing. I'm already working on my next chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Thank you for your continued support in this writing endeavor, especially with the last "transitional" (thanks JessahmaeWren) chapter. Please read and review, if so inclined. I still own nothing of the Blacklist.

Chapter 9

OoooooooooO

Red ended his last phone call with a terse, "See that it gets done! Or you can be certain Morena will learn of your little imbroglio with the married couple in Gstaad…and in Salzburg. Those hills were alive with more the sound of music, and I'll remind you that I have an excellent recording of it all."

He huffed and stowed his phone away in his jacket pocket. The last three conversations had given him the necessary distance from that scene with Lizzie. He had regained a bit of his composure, though it had been a near thing.

_I don't know if I should be terrified or relieved that she knows. _Red sighed, leaned forward and steepled his fingers under his chin. _I've planned for this for so long, and while Lizzie has always been part of my endgame, she was also always the unpredictable variable. _He rubbed his hands over his head in amusement. _But I suppose that's one of the many reasons I feel they way I do about her._

He was still musing over that last thought when the door opened and Menace stuck her head out.

"Mr. Reddington, may we have a moment of your time? We found something in Etienne's collection of samples. It's a bit different then what you requested, so your feedback would be much appreciated." Red placed his hands back on his knees and stood up, retrieving his fedora and jacket from the chair beside him.

"Ms. Menace, I'm certain if Lizzie likes it, it will suit perfectly. She has excellent taste, a fact that was not well reflected in her current professional wardrobe due to her frustrating tendency towards practicality. "Red followed her back into the room, and lifted his eyes.

His heart somersaulted, and kept moving, despite the fact that he was frozen in place. He could imagine it continuously rolling until it reached Lizzie's feet, where he felt it truly belonged. After all, what else does one sacrifice to a goddess?

Red's eyes traveled from the softly rounded hem of her dress. It was a vibrant purple, the color of tropical orchids, the fabric a rich silk charmeuse, and was luminous in the late afternoon light. He took in how it flowed over her thighs and gently encased her hips. Above, her slender waist was accented with a belt that appeared to be made of intricately knotted silk. His eyes stopped at a pair of anxious hands held directly at her waist, and a thumb worrying a scar.

Inwardly he smiled, and continued his journey up the artfully cut bodice, to the beautiful lines of a single exposed shoulder, the graceful curve of her neck, and then the most perfect blue eyes on Earth. Admittedly, they were even more beautiful when Lizzie didn't look so nervous, but he would do what he could to reassure her.

Forcing his face to remain composed, and never taking his eyes off of her, Red again approached Lizzie. Instead of remaining in front of her, he lifted a single finger and placed it directly under the belt at her waist. He began a slow circuit around her.

_I'm orbiting her body, like it is the sun_. _An apt comparison, _he thought.

His finger slipped over the lush fabric as he continued. Red thought Lizzie was holding her breath.

Returning to his original position, his finger remained about two inches above her navel. He dropped his hand to take hers, lifting them both to his mouth.

Again, while maintaining eye contact, he kissed the back of both hands, folded them over each other, and pulled them down so they were covering his own heart.

Red knew that she would understand. No one, especially one as perceptive as she, could misinterpret the racing pulse of his heart.. He felt his face open into a smile that was likely ridiculous in its frank affection, and was truly gratified to see it mirrored on her face.

For once, he wouldn't even try to use words. And she would understand.

OooooooooooO

Menace and Genevieve continued to bustle around them, wrapping up an outfit that Lizzie could take with her, assuring their customers that the premade garments would be finished and delivered to Lizzie's home the following Friday. Their comment gave her pause, and she tore her eyes away from Red.

He sensed her conflict. "Ladies, if you would, please have it all delivered to this address." He dropped her hands to move to one of the sewing tables and quickly wrote out directions on a notepad.

He returned to Lizzie, and caressed her arm to her wrist, and reclaimed her hand. He considered her for a moment, "If you like, I can have your earlier purchases rerouted there as well. I would hate for you to have to encounter any difficult questions."

Lizzie looked down and then back up, and nodded, gratefully. "It would be better that way. I won't truly enjoy them until after I resolve a few issues at home." She blushed, lightly. "And I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea about all those undergarments. They're not really to be shared with others. Do you agree, Red?"

He smiled, eyes crinkling and nodded. "Precisely what I was thinking, dear. Now, if you wouldn't mind removing that exquisite masterpiece of a dress, we should probably return you to your residence. I believe weekend suspensions were over at four. As it is approaching six, your presence is likely missed at home."

Lizzie sighed and smiled. "I wish I didn't have to."

One would be hard pressed to determine whether she was referring to taking off the dress or returning home. Both interested parties reasoned it was equal parts of both.

She gathered the skirt in her hands and swayed side to side a little. "I never thought I'd try on a dress like this. I feel like a belle without a ball." She laughed, slightly embarrassed, and shook her head. "I've never worn something that made me feel so beautiful."

"Lizzie, I may sound like a dusty college professor, but 'It is not only fine feathers that make fine birds.' The dress suits you, but it is but it's much like a well crafted piece of jewelry. The setting might be exquisite, but its function is to only to display a jewel to its best advantage." He smirked, and bowed a little, and turned away to conclude his business.

Lizzie turned to Menace, unsure if she felt juvenile and silly or ridiculously charmed. Menace laughed, and gestured to the back.

"Let's get you dressed back there. We don't want to expose the fabric to any more heat." She grinned, "I don't even need a steam press with you both here."

Lizzie blushed a deeper red, and followed her back.

OoooooooooO

They said their goodbyes to the sisters, and began their walk out to the car. Red's shoulder bumped once, then twice into hers. Then she felt his hand take her own. They never broke their stride, but the casual observer would have witnessed the space between them dissolve, until they walked almost as a single entity.

OoooooooooO

Little was said in the Mercedes, but their hands remained intertwined. As the car stopped in front of Lizzie's house, she turned towards Red. After pursing her lips for a moment, she leaned over, ran her hand along his jaw and placed a light kiss alongside his lips. Pulling back, she whispered, "Thank you for everything, Red."

She ran her hand along his jaw yet again and Dembe opened her door. She turned back to see a pensive Red, holding his cheek. She smiled once, brilliantly, and exited the car.

OooooooooooO

Tom was inside, sorting through the myriad of remains inside the fridge, humming a mash up of 80's power ballads. He could never keep them straight, and often would mix one song's bridge with its refrain. It never failed to make Lizzie laugh, but in this moment, she just felt tired.

He closed the door and smiled. "Thought I heard you come in. What did you get up to on your day off? I saw that the Nutella jar was still full." He chuckled.

Lizzie pulled out one of the bar stools and sat, looking back up at him. "I just went window shopping, got some lunch and did a whole lot of thinking."

Tom laughed. "I know that look, and it's trouble. What is it this time, Liz? Do you want to redecorate? Should we repaint the dining room again?"

His smile faded as he finally took in her expression. "Liz, what's wrong?"

She looked at the counter, and then slowly met his eyes. She exhaled, "Us."

OoooooooooooooO

Much later, after the last shouts had quieted, tears had dried, and the sound of a door slammed in anger began to fade from her mind, Lizzie turned on the shower, hoping the water would wash away some of her lingering guilt and grief. She stood in front of the mirror in her blue lace. Her fingers smoothed over a strap and for a moment, she closed her eyes.

She traveled back to this afternoon, and her body remembered the sensation of being encased in charmeuse, of feeling strong and beautiful. The touch of a finger tracing her waist, leaving warmth and desire in its wake.

Her hands recalled the rapid beat of a heart, now far across the city.

And she felt at peace, even amidst all the uncertainty, because he would be there.

AN: So, I think that this might be it. I've been kicking around a one-shot that might continue the…romance…down the line, but might need a little encouragement. I am beyond grateful for the reviews, praise and even the bit of critique I received. I want to become better at all this. Also, if you'd like to continue to review, it might motivate me to finish up that one-shot. Just a thought. J


End file.
